Forge a path to success.

Chapter 100 Appreciating One-Sided Beauty
As the music began, Ji Huaisu quickly put on his earplugs. Half the market reacted the same way; vendors and tourists alike immediately covered their ears. A few who didn't have any goods substituted with other merchandise, and the vendors were understanding and didn't get angry.

The other half reacted quite differently; they fidgeted restlessly, wanting to put on the earplugs but hesitating and putting them down. A chubby hamster clutched a mini earplug, undecided. Its pink-furred companion shrieked, "Put them on! Put them on! Do you want to go hungry?!"

"But if I wear it, I can't listen to anything," the hamster said pitifully. "I think maybe I should..."

"Is the song more important or the money?"

The little hamster made up its mind, gritted its teeth, and said, "The song is important!"

It tossed its earplugs to its companion and began to dance to the music. The other half, without earplugs, swayed like hamsters, tapping out rhythms and swinging their arms. This bizarre scene resembled a Disney princess appearing in another world; everything within a hundred miles that could breathe joined in the singing and dancing.

Chu Hengkong was quite surprised. Ji Huaisu nudged his arm and raised her voice because she was wearing earplugs: "Do you really have to try it yourself to be satisfied?"

He put the earplugs in his pocket: "I'll see what kind of trick this is."

"But what can I do?" Van der said helplessly. "I have no ears!"

"Then what will you use to listen?"

"Skin, what else?"

Its tentacles swayed rhythmically, making it a veritable veteran squid DJ. Chu Heng bought a piece of cloth and wrapped its head around it, which effectively suppressed the tentacles' drumming. But then Fan De started walking and spinning around, like a country woman obsessed with ballet, making Ji Huaisu laugh so hard he was clutching his stomach.

Listening to the music, they followed the circling Van der Rohe northwards to a small bar on the east side of the market. This unassuming little place was completely surrounded by a large crowd of listeners, and captivating music was emanating from within. Behind a grimy window, a dark figure held a harp, playing and singing joyfully:
"From Longmian Peak to Jingluo Prefecture, from Tianqiong Holy Capital to Mansha Star Castle."

I've seen the most dazzling starry sky and visited the most remote Dust Island.

I gaze at different nights, pondering the same perplexing questions.

Everything has a beginning; where should our story begin?

The man's voice was exquisite, a universally acknowledged beauty that transcended gender. His singing made the audience clap along, and Chu Hengkong nodded in agreement. He pushed his way through the crowd into the bar and immediately saw the poet in his entirety. The man sat by the window, holding a harp as black as night. He was lean and wiry, with a high, straight nose, skin like black pearls, and a face as handsome as his own voice.

The dark-skinned man took a satisfying sip of beer and then sang:

"Why not follow the example of ancient epics and get to the bottom of things?"

Let's start with the talkative and glib character outside the story.

That man was cunning and treacherous, eager for quick success and profit, and always penniless with no family fortune. Whenever trouble arose, he would slip away without a trace.

Unfortunately, fate was unkind; it bestowed upon him a handsome face and a beautiful voice, making him capable of singing long poems and playing short tunes.

Sometimes traveling far, sometimes resting briefly, wandering year-round, occasionally carrying out a mission.

I've seen the mountains on the mountaintops and the sea beneath the ocean.

That man's name was Sriel, and he sang a song every day without fail. The content was entirely up to you—whether it was about human geography or epic legends!

Sriel opened one eye and waved to the crowd: "What would you like to hear today, my dear friends?"

"Tell me about geography!" a squirrel squeaked. "I want to hear what we talked about last time, about the places where the four seasons change."

The one-eyed giant drinking beer tossed the squirrel aside: "Don't listen to him, let's get this exciting! Tell me a secret about a major battle!"

“It’s harmful to fate, too unsafe,” the waitress protested. “If you ask me, legendary stories are much more appealing.”

"That's great!" "Let's talk about legends." "Let's broaden everyone's horizons!"

A chorus of responses erupted inside and outside the tavern. The poet lightly plucked the strings, his tone mocking: "Look at these impatient listeners. They want to get straight to the point when listening to songs, ignoring the setting, the place, the motives, the background, just wanting to hear the eye-catching fodder for conversation. Too bad that's our business; stories should be told in a way that the audience enjoys—"

He plucked the strings and strummed the strings with both hands, producing a lively melody like fluttering butterflies. He then tapped his feet three times and sang: "Legends are songs in the mouths of poets, legends are dreams in the hearts of people. There must be a reason why an ordinary person can become a legend."

If we speak of intelligence and wit, we must mention the 'Secret Script Envoy' of the former divine kingdom, whose creation of writing and songs earned the praise of the Dragon God; if we seek strength and toughness, we must speak of the 'Hollow Walker's' journey of exploration, whose fists are indestructible and whose staff subdues demons and monsters; if we seek a lone hero, we must mention the 'Strange Gunner' who infiltrated the Otagu Forest alone and took down the three evil demon brothers with three shots; if we seek the wicked and bizarre, we must mention the contractors of various great demons, who can turn their hands to create clouds and rain.
If you rack your brains, disregard fate, and insist on exploring the deepest darkness, then close your eyes to the music. Beyond the mist, at the foot of the shadows, in the tragically fallen city of nightmares, you will find despair and utter ruin—the cruel and tyrannical 'King of Nightmares'…”

The melody gradually slowed, the poet's tone becoming sinister. His music possessed a palpable power; terrifying demons and monsters seemed to crawl out from the notes, causing timid little animals to tremble. But suddenly, the poet grinned, revealing his teeth: "However, today's protagonist surpasses everyone else! He is plain-looking, of ordinary origin, not a distinguished guest, lacking any eye-catching charisma, without any immediately noticeable characteristics, and has been in the business for quite some time without ever having visited many dusty islands..."

Some listeners were already getting impatient: "Then what kind of supernatural power does he possess that allows him to surpass these famous figures?" "This matter requires careful consideration; please allow me to be vague..."

The poet drew out his words, building up the anticipation, before whispering as if revealing a secret: "He, with skillful hands, defeated an immortal machine."

A collective gasp filled the tavern. Sriel laughed loudly, "You know his name. You know his achievements. He is the Grand Detective of Huilong City, 'Silver-Armed War Demon' Chu Hengkong!"

He suddenly vanished from his seat, appearing like a shadow behind Chu Hengkong, and handed him a beer: "Interested in sharing your personal experience with everyone?"

All eyes were focused on the real Chu Hengkong, who remained unfazed and took the beer with his tentacle: "I'm not good at telling stories, so feel free to do as you please."

"Ah~~ It seems the Chief Inspector doesn't like to boast!" Sriel chuckled mischievously. "I really should thank him; a true hero doesn't steal a poet's thunder. Please enjoy, 'The Song of the Silver Arm'!"

He leaned against the wall and began singing Qi Su's recently composed song, sharing the whole story with everyone. The poet's narrative was highly skillful; he succinctly summarized Chu Hengkong's arrival in the town, focusing entirely on the truth of the undead and the final battle. He was extremely careful with his words, never mentioning the heretics, the empire, or even technology, nor naming a single town resident. He only spoke of the powerful and terrifying machinery, the united will of the people, and the brilliant and courageous detective, describing the battle as at least three times more dramatic and exciting than the actual events.

As the song ended, the audience gasped in amazement at times, and held their breath in suspense at others. When the music finished, they cheered and applauded, their shouts practically lifting the roof off the tavern. Sriel pulled out a small bowl, about the size of a rice bowl, and held it up to the crowd: "A few coins, please?"

It was as if they had entered a treasure vault and opened a treasure chest. Everyone who had listened to the music and danced, whether small animals or alien races, ascendants or ordinary people, threw out all their valuables. Flowing beads were scattered in handfuls as if they were free, jewelry was torn off and thrown forward, and some who were short of money felt guilty and even threw away their weapons, such as spears and axes.

The poet's small bowl held a hidden secret; whatever it might be—relics or treasures—was all collected. He slyly held the bowl up to Chu Hengkong, banging it loudly: "Chief Inspector, give me some, give me some?"

Vande, clutching the silver-eyed book, leaped into the air, wishing he could throw himself into the trap along with the book. Ji Huaisu pulled him back, and Chu Hengkong placed a large pearl into the bowl: "You sang so well."

"Only a few? How stingy!" Sreil sat back down by the window, strumming a string. "The performance is temporarily over. Poets need love and alcohol. The show's over for today. Until we meet again!"

The audience dispersed upon hearing this, all feeling a pang of regret as if waking from a dream. They lamented their empty wallets and belongings, yet none bothered the poet to demand repayment or another song. Ji Huaisu removed his headphones and slammed his hand on the table: "Sriel! I warned you, don't you dare cheat me again!"

"Don't say that, Captain, everyone did it voluntarily~" Sriel was not ashamed, but proud. "Doing business is like dating, one is willing to give and the other is willing to receive."

Ji Huaisu sneered repeatedly: "More than one girl has come to report you for using photos to seduce men."

"That's because they don't know how to appreciate it!" the poet stood up and protested vehemently. "These days, in this world! Only people without taste would fixate on such minor errors; cultured people should know how to appreciate the beauty of the whole!"

Chu Hengkong glanced over and immediately understood the source of the "deception" protest. Sriel did indeed possess an exceptionally handsome profile, his looks arguably among the best. However, the problem was that his face lacked a certain thickness from the front; his eyes were quite close together, his nose was particularly narrow, and his entire head resembled a triangular prism. This resulted in, when viewed from the front, the poet somewhat resembling…

A dark, almost black fish.

Sriel straightened his face, his fish-like expression now filled with excitement: "Someone's eyes have clearly changed! Just a moment ago they were admiring the handsome guy, but now they're mocking the clown!"

"You've misunderstood." Chu Hengkong tried hard to suppress his laughter. "I never admired you from the beginning."

"That's where the misunderstanding lies! What heartless people you are, you have no sense of aesthetics at all..."

“You’re right!” Van der agreed vehemently. “The aesthetic sense of humanoid life forms is really too strange. I still don’t understand its beauty or ugliness.”

Sriel clapped his hands in admiration: "This man has exceptional eyesight and eloquence; one look at him and you can tell he's a cultured scholar."

"Mr. Sreyer, I'm a loyal reader of yours. I often read your works when I was in school!" Vander exclaimed excitedly, gesturing wildly. "Please give me your autograph!"

Sriel strummed the strings, and a dark note floated out, bursting like a soap bubble into a white-on-black calligraphy signature. Van der held the signature, behaving like a die-hard fan who had just met a celebrity. Chu Hengkong searched his memory for the name and found it to be a famous figure: Qi Su had sung some of Sriel's short poems and limericks, which came from his "Thirty-Six Lines of Wonderful Tales."

He placed the beer mug in front of the poet, smiled at him, and said, "No matter how well you sing, you shouldn't use illusions and tricks to swindle money from ordinary people."

"It's just a little fantasy song that came to mind on a whim. It won't harm a small fry, and even a master can just have a laugh." Sriel leaned against the windowsill, feeling confident. "If the detective wants to reason with me, I have something to say first. It's only natural to suffer in silence when you're not as skilled as others. If you knowingly step forward into trouble, you only have yourself to blame."

"They've even managed to justify their swindling!" Ji Huaisu sneered.

“What you said makes sense.” Chu Hengkong nodded. “However, this is our job, so please return the extra amount.”

"Wow! Is there going to be a fight?" Sriel hugged his harp tighter. "No, no, I'm a poet, I don't do action scenes! Money is fine with me..."

He magically produced a wooden envelope and waved it at Chu Hengkong: "Please exchange it for a debt of gratitude."

(End of this chapter)